


Chosen Loss

by TheWritersHeir



Series: Dear St. Anne I'm writing about a Video Game... [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dadza is awesome, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Gen, I suck at tags, Lots of Angst, Phil is not a force to be reckoned with in this one, SBI plus Tubbo and Ranboo!!, Tubbo and Ranboo are Phil's bio sons too!!!, its my first fic, leave me alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29569662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritersHeir/pseuds/TheWritersHeir
Summary: Estarra never thought she'd have to face her past.It was too dark, too painful.Too bloody.But Fate has a way of throwing our worst nightmares in our faces for Its own entertainment.
Relationships: Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Technoblade & Philza, Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Whatson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Ranboo & Tubbo Smith
Series: Dear St. Anne I'm writing about a Video Game... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2172444
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm brand new here so if you see something messed up or out of the ordinary that's blatantly ridiculous, let me know!
> 
> This is my first fanfic EVER as well, but I've been writing stories and whatnot since I was twelve. Think of this as my way of seeing if the general public likes my writing style--and if I have a future with writing and becoming an author.
> 
> Just a few things before we get started--
> 
> 1\. I'm ignoring any and all lore. All of it. This is purely self-indulgent. Don't get me wrong, I love what the Dream SMP have done and their story is pretty awesome--I'll actually probably write another fic later that's more lore-accurate--but I wanted to do my own take.  
> 2\. I don't swear. Like, at all. If I AM swearing, ya'll better run and pray. That being said, the characters in this story won't swear either. Sorry, as a few are quite known for their more, how shall we say, flavorful language. It just makes me uncomfortable.  
> 3\. I've read this through like seven times, so if you see an typos, they're your problem now and I don't care.  
> 4, Also, make sure you eat something and drink some water, get some sleep--I know it can be difficult, but you gotta at least try.  
> 4\. Go easy on me! Hope you enjoy!

Most people would be bothered by hurting children. The innocent, the fragile—incapable of defending themselves and falling prey to the slightest of threats. Children were meant to be protected, not hurt.

The mercenary that held the ten-year-old in a death-grip with a gloved hand clamped over the boy’s mouth didn’t seem to care.

“Where’s your brothers? We know they’re here somewhere.” 

The little boy flinched at the tone of the mercenary’s voice, terror-drowned eyes flicking between him and the other four armed men. The mercenary eased up, just a fraction of an inch, to let the boy speak.

“Go jump in a zombie pit.” The words were spoken with much more venom than someone of his age should’ve been able to muster.

It did him no good. The boy gasped as the mercenary yanked his head back by his hair and held a netherite blade to his pale throat. 

“Tell us, or we’ll kill them when we find them while you watch. Their blood will be on your hands.”

The captive gave a petrified whimper, squeezing his eyes shut. “No—please—”

The mercenary turned to his companions. “Find them. Kill the first two—”

“No! Th-they’re by the r-river. U-under the Three O-oaks.” Tears were streaming down the boy’s face as he spoke. 

The mercenary grinned, pearly teeth glinting in the torchlight. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He turned to his men. “Go get them. Rendezvous at the wagon.”

Before the boy could protest or really even process what was happening, a damp cloth was pressed against his nose and mouth. A cloying, sickly smell filled his lungs and he started to struggle vainly as he recognized the putrid odor. 

Sleeping potion.

The last thing he comprehended was a distant, familiar scream as he slipped into the velvety unknown.


	2. Estarra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visions and dreams--  
> Estarra is awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiiiii....
> 
> Please let me know what you think--I need ya'lls help!  
> I hope you like it!
> 
> Eat and drink something, take a nap, and get your homework done.  
> Enjoy!

It had been a long time since Estarra had dreamed, much less had a nightmare. Usually she just drifted through unconsciousness, blissfully quiet and serene. 

No such bliss this time. The nightmare still clung to her, sweat prickling on her neck and leaving a bad taste in her mouth. Shuddering, she sat up in her soft bed, the furs and silk blankets pooling at her waist. Her wings, soft ebony and glimmering purple, massive compared to her own slight frame, twitched uneasily.

The horrific images didn’t belong in her bedroom—the blood, the child’s screams, the bruised eyes; they just didn’t mix with the sunlight coming through the window seat curtains, the piano and desk covered with music sheets and papers in the corner, and the bookshelf overflowing with tomes and manuscripts. The thick carpets, the glimpse of a luxurious closet and bath room behind a cracked door, and the expensive oil paintings all spoke of a life of quiet peace and sumptuousness—not the freezing cold, broken bones, and oily fear that slicked her mind like a poison.

Estarra knew her dreams meant more than just too much sugar the night before or a scary novel she really shouldn’t have been reading that late at night—they came with a glimpse of the future, or a warning. A vision, almost. 

A bitter feeling of anticipation balled in the pit of her stomach as she slid off the bed and pulled her satin robe around her shoulders, flexing her wings slightly to rid herself of the remaining shudders. “Anisa?” 

The call was gentle and the response almost immediate. Her massive mahogany doors cracked open. “Yes ma’am?”

Estarra couldn’t help but smile at the sweet maid who looked so much like an angel with her blonde hair, soft blue eyes, and dimples that Estarra couldn’t help but wonder if the girl was human or actually one of the fabled cherubs from above.

“Tell Ronan to ready the horses. I think I’ll take a ride before breakfast,” Estarra reached for a brush. “And prepare the bath room. We’re going to have visitors.”

“How many?”

“Four. Shoo.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The slight girl disappeared back down the hall, leaving the hint of lilacs in her wake. Estarra smiled despite the unease in her veins. Absentmindedly, she ran the brush through her own blonde hair, glaring at the grey streaks in her ornate mirror. 

Wringing her wrists, she changed into a heavy winter dress with slots in the back for her wings, one with the stays in the front so she didn’t have to call Anisa again. 

Ronan was waiting for her at the front of the castle next to the frozen marble fountain. It was already snowing. Normally, the icy fluff would’ve made Estarra smile with thoughts of a cozy fire and a good book, but today it brought a knit to her brow. 

“Any particular road today?” Ronan gave her a leg up onto her horse, a massive blood bay that only tolerated Estarra.

“Toward the village, north road. Quickly now, or we’ll miss them.”  
Ronan knew better than to argue. Estarra may have been quiet and soft-spoken, but she was a dragon beneath the gentle façade. It was better to stay on the dragon’s good side. 

Much better.

Estarra offered no conversation as the two traversed towards the village. Ronan didn’t make any. He led the way, lips pressed together against the bitter cold. Estarra followed silently behind, crystal-ball eyes fixed pointedly on the frozen road ahead. 

Ronan, personally, didn’t think his lady should be out in this cold. Estarra was rather thin and was prone to colds. Her thick purple frock, winter fur-lined boots, and blood-crimson fur-trimmed cloak was not enough to keep her warm, in his opinion.

“Stop fretting, Ronan.” Estarra’s voice, though tinged with nerves, was amused. “I remembered my gloves and wrap this time.” Ronan turned and gave her a half-smile, double-checking to see that she was indeed wearing the mink hat and thick gloves. He saw her heavy cloak shift as her wings twitched beneath the thick fabric.

“They’ll be coming up in about four minutes.” Her tone suddenly changed to serious and composed. “Distract the man. I want to assess the children.”

Ronan didn’t ask. Estarra was very secretive about her visions and magical powers. He knew it was to protect him and the rest of the household—the less they knew the safer they were.

What must have been four minutes to the second later, Ronan and Estarra crested the last hill before the village to see a small ox-drawn wagon lumbering along the rut-plagued dirt road. 

“You have your orders.” Estarra’s dangerously-quiet tone held no room for argument, and sent a bitter chill down Ronan’s spine. He had never once been the subject of that eerily calm rage, but he had seen it several times on others and he silently thanked the gods he was spared.

Nudging his horse, he moved to fulfill his orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so nervous--  
> Any typos are not my problem. Thanks for reading!


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estarra is not happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally think this chapter is trash, but whatevs. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Estarra gave her loyal guard the order and he obeyed instantly, spurring his horse forward to fulfill the command.

Estarra’s wings tensed tighter the closer her horse clopped to the wagon. She gracefully slid of her horse, only slightly aware of Ronan talking to the lone driver. 

Her sensitive ears heard faint scrambling, soft hushes being whispered through clenched teeth. 

Stepping onto the small step that allowed access to the back flap, she swung the pathetic piece of fabric to the side. 

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Estarra had to force back a gag as the smell of unwashed bodies and rotting blood hit her in the face. 

The second thing was the sight. Four boys, the youngest not older than nine, were huddled bound on the wagon floor. Wide eyes of various colors and emotions stared at her in utter fear and terror. 

Estarra bit back the rage that nipped at her mind, begging to be let out. 

Not here, not now. Not now.

Instead, she let her eyes drag over the other boys, taking in and filing injuries and noticeable features. 

They were all relatively the same size; thin and gangly with narrow cheekbones and angled jaws. Two were brunet—the oldest and the youngest from the looks of things. The eldest was holding his arm at an odd angle while the youngest seemed to be nursing a broken ankle. The two others were blond and raven-haired respectively. The blond had a black eye that covered half his face and a gag in his mouth, fire-cracker blue eyes dulled over. The raven-haired boy had bi-colored eyes and skin paler than Bible paper; he seemed relatively intact. 

All were littered with scratches and bruises, wore tattered shirts and jeans, and none of them wore shoes or cloaks. Their fingers and lips were blue, and their ears and cheeks a cherry red. There was no telling how long they’d been out in this weather without proper protection. 

“Hello.” Estarra layered her voice with magic, letting it seep into the boys’ minds to calm them. “Who are all of you?”

The eldest, blinking confusedly as the magic dulled his fear, furrowed his brow. “Who are you?”

“Hey you!” the driver, a crotchety-looking thing, suddenly noticed Estarra standing near the boys. She couldn’t help but notice how the man’s voice made the boys jump wildly and break the calming spell. 

“Get away from them!” the cranky man hurried toward Estarra. “They’re worth a lot of mo—” 

Ronan’s sword jabbed at his throat kept him from speaking, as well as taking another step toward his lady. 

Estarra let a charming smile, bright and unbothered, grace her features. “I was just looking,” she said coyly. “I’ve been needing a few more slaves for around the house.”

The four boys jerked instinctively, the blond letting out a protest behind his gag. 

“You have no idea who you’re messing with! You better leave us alone!” the eldest sat up straight, vainly trying to shield the others with his body. He yanked futilely at the rope around his wrists. The action pained him, Estarra knew; she could see that the cord was soaked through with blood.

“How much for them?”

More protests from the boys, and the raven-haired boy started twitching. 

Estarra ignored them.

The driver swallowed gently as Ronan eased up a fraction of an inch, enough to let the man talk. “They’re not for sale. They’re already sold. Some bigshot paid a lot of money to have them captured and transported.”

“Who?” Estarra’s voice was curious, nonchalant. 

“I don’t know, miss,” the driver continued drabbling. “I didn’t look at the paperwork, just took the money.”

“Where’d you pick them up at?” 

“Near the Antartic. The mercenaries that captured them handed them off to me.”

“How long have you had them?”

“I’ve had em about five days. The mercenaries before me had em about a week.”

“Where’re you taking them?”

The driver nodded to the sleepy village.

“Who’s picking them up?”

“Another mercenary. Don’t know his name, just his face. He’s to take the boys to whoever ordered their capture.” 

A slight frown tugged at Estarra’s brow. This was not a lot of information to work with. She sighed, shuffling her feathers. It would be relatively easy to get the rest of the information, but it would have been nice to have it all now.

She looked to the boys again, who were now all looking at her with apprehension. There was something about them that seemed vaguely familiar—the way the eldest held his head in defiance, the way the blond’s hair fell in clumps around his eyes. 

“Ronan, take them.”

“Wait, you just ca—”

Estarra lost her patience. Her hand flew to the side, at the driver. The driver went stone-cold rigid. Ronan backed up and waited, having seen this a hundred times before. 

Estarra’s hand was glowing.

“You are despicable.” Her voice was echoey and hollow, drenched with magic. “Transporting children for money? You’re lucky I don’t kill you now.”

She dropped her hand and the driver fell into a pathetic heap, spluttering apologies through tears. 

“Go find the mercenary. Tell him to tell his boss that if he wants the boys, he can come get them himself.” She turned on her heel, swinging her cape around and mincing her way back to her horse who hadn’t even moved. 

“Ronan, give me the small one. He can’t walk back on that ankle.” 

Ronan obeyed methodically. 

The boys all seemed to jerk out of whatever state of shock Estarra’s magic seemed to have put them in. 

“You leave him alone!” the eldest shot up at Ronan as the big guard stepped into the pitiful wagon. The guard shoved the eldest down with barely any effort. The boy was practically a skeleton under the sallow skin. 

The little boy whimpered, shrinking away from Ronan, but couldn’t stop the guard from scooping up in his arms. The other two boys tried clinging to Ronan’s ankles, but they were just too weak. Ronan carried him dutifully to his lady. Estarra pulled the boy onto her lap, flinging her cloak over the tiny, shivering figure. 

“Tie the rest to your saddle,” Estarra said, wiping tears from the brunet’s face. “I don’t think they’ll try to run while I have this one, but better to play it safe.”

Estarra watched with sad eyes as Ronan attached leads to the remaining boys’ wrists and tied the other ends to his saddle horn. The raven-haired boy didn’t put up much of a fight, the elder had to be threatened, and the blond had to be dragged, screaming muffled obscenities. Estarra was beginning to see why he was gagged. 

“What’re you gonna do with us?” 

Estarra looked down to see the brunet was looking at his companions with terrified, watery eyes. 

“I’m going to keep you safe, darling,” Estarra nodded to Ronan and the two turned their horses back towards her castle. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t answer her!” 

Ronan jerked the eldest’s rope for his impudence, almost sending the tall boy sprawling.

“Ronan,” Estarra said. “Gentle. They’re hurt enough.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eat, drink, sleep. 
> 
> That's an order.
> 
> Any guesses on who the boys are??  
> (Ik its obvious...bear with me)
> 
> Or what about Estarra? 🤔  
> (She's mine btw, don't be stealing her.)


	4. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys arent particularly happy with being rescued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> The farther along this story gets, the more I hate it. 
> 
> Oh well, too late now!!
> 
> Please let me know if you like...I really needs yalls help.

The slow walk back to the castle was uneventful. They had to abandon “let the boys walk” plan after they stumbled and fell after only ten feet. The wagon with the shaken driver rumbling away as fast as he could wasn’t even out of sight yet.

“We’ve been in that wagon for a week,” the eldest hissed, trying to get his feet back under him. “Give us a break.”

“Oh dear,” Estarra sighed as Ronan set the snarling blond boy, getting several kicks for his troubles, onto the back of his horse like a sack of potatoes.

“Why is it so cold?” the brunet in Estarra’s lap asked, shivering. 

“Shh, darling,” Estarra shushed as Ronan lifted the eldest onto the back of her horse and the raven-haired boy into his lap. “We’ll be safe soon.”

“I’m so cold,” he sniffled.

“I know dear,” Estarra threw part of her cloak over the boy behind her, who had settled into a sullen silence.

The servants were ready and lined up outside the castle when they finally arrived. Guests were a rarity in Estarra’s home; their lady preferred her peace and silence.

“The baths are all ready, milady,” Anisa gave a small curtsy as Estarra slid off her horse, still holding the brunet. “I had the kitchen ready chicken soup and the laundry put together some clothes. One of the guestrooms has been set up as well. The physician has been notified and is putting together his bag as we speak.”

"Ever the preparer,” Estarra praised as the horses were led off by servants and she and Ronan, who had the blond’s and eldest’s leads in hand while another servant carried the raven-haired boy, entered the castle.

The boy in her arms full-on shuddered as the warmth enveloped him.

“Did you want to take a hot bath?” Estarra asked gently, heading toward the bath room without waiting for an answer.

“I’m tired,” the boy murmured, leaning his head on her shoulder. “So tired.”

“I know, darling,” Estarra said, barely feeling the boy’s weight. “You can sleep soon.”

The bath room was even warmer than the rest of the castle. Four pairs of servants stood ready next to four baths, ready for their charges.

“Get them undressed and into the water,” Estarra commanded, handing the small boy off to one of the pairs. “Use as little force as possible, but I want them bathed.”

Her tone was still gentle, but held a sternness that gave no room to be questioned.

"Anisa!”

The wisp of girl hurried after her lady as Estarra strode back to her room to help her change out of the now-sodden gown and riding clothes. Anisa helped her change. With an almost second thought, Estarra clipped on a loose summer cape, hiding her wings.  


...

They heard the screeches long before they were even near the bath room. Estarra sighed deeply, already knowing what she was going to see.

The footmen gave her a nervous look. “One of them is banging around, trying to get out—” he said nervously, hand on the doorknob.

Estarra nodded. “It’s okay, you can open the door.”

Anisa and Estarra slipped through the door in a second.

They were met with chaos.

The small brunet and the raven-haired boy were in their baths, their servants hovering as the two seemed to be falling asleep in the hot water. The twos’ heads were wet so Estarra guessed they had already been washed and the servants were just letting them rest. The little brunet had his injured ankle propped up out of the water as not to stimulate the inflammation.

The eldest was actively fighting his servants, who had the boy stripped and in the tub, but he wasn’t letting them wash his hair and he was refusing to accept the bar of soap.

The blond—Estarra sighed again. The two servants hadn’t even gotten the boy undressed—the blond was flying around the room at a remarkable speed for one in his condition.

"He was faking not being able to walk,” Ronan said from next to the door. “He waited a grand total of ten seconds of being untied before exploding.”

Estarra nodded, mildly amused. One of the boy’s poor servants was huddled on top of the towel cabinet while the second was desperately trying to catch the boy who kept just enough distance between him and the distressed servant to keep himself out of reach.

"Anisa?”

Anisa put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

The blond froze in his tracks out of shock, and the one servant took this as an opportunity to grab the boy. Immediately, the blond began screeching vile words a boy his age should not have known.

The two fighting the eldest finally just dunked the brunet under the water and held him there, obviously tired of his shenanigans. One quickly grabbed the shampoo and started scrubbing the matted mess. 

“Well this seems to be a lovely get together,” Estarra said mildly as the servant climbed off the towel cabinet and went to help his flustered companion.

The other two let the eldest up, coughing and sputtering and indignant, but with washed hair.

“Sorry, miss,” the one who had been hiding said apologetically. “We couldn’t catch him.”

“I noticed. Just get him clean before the water gets cold.”

The raven-haired boy’s servants went to help with the struggling child as their own charge had fallen asleep in the warm water. Drawing a screen around the blond’s tub, they started wrestling him for his shirt, the boy squawking profanity all the while.

The eldest had given up his fight and was scowling while running a soap bar half-heartedly over himself, babying his arm, his servants hovering in case he decided to make a run for it.

“Miss?”

Estarra turned to see her private physician. She didn’t have much use of him, thanks to her magic, but she kept him around for her servants.

“I’m ready for the lads.” The frail man eyed the four boys in question through thick spectacles. “Any idea what we’re looking at?”

“A broken ankle, possible hypothermia, slight malnourishment, and several abrasions that may be infected,” Ronan said.

The doctor nodded and waved to the servants. “Hurry now.”

Estarra hummed to herself as the brunet’s servants went ahead and woke the brunet and the raven-haired boy and offered them towels.

Turning away, Estarra muttered to Anisa, “Have them brought to one of the smaller private dining rooms. I’ll be there shortly.”

Anisa nodded and Estarra slipped away, a thought she didn’t like churning in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!!
> 
> Remember to drink some water today!!


	5. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estarra tries to calm the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear Im trying my best...my apologies if you read this crap.
> 
> The next chapter is my favorite tho, so dont run away just yet!

When Estarra made her way to the mentioned dining room two hours later, the boys were much more subdued.

She stood outside the door for a few minutes, using her magic to peer through the rich mahogany wood.

The four boys were seated at the table, as far away from the servants as they could, nibbling slowly on the food in front of them.

Smart, Estarra thought. Taking it slow so they don’t upset their stomachs.

Even though the boys had only been given warm chicken broth and soft bread, sustenance that would be gentle on the tenderest of stomachs, they still held back.

Well, those who were awake. The little brunet had his face planted on the table, dead to the world. The other three were not that far behind, all looking as though they were staying awake through luck alone.

“I see you’ve all calmed down considerably.” She opened the door, startling them, and they all sat bolt upright out of their sleepy state. Well, save the little brunet, who didn’t even move.

“Who the hell are you?!” the blond snapped, holding his spoon like a knife. The servants in the room took a step back. Estarra personally wondered how much mischief the boy had caused on his way over here.

“Shush, Tommy,” she said, waving her hand at the little brunet as she sat at the head of the table. “You’ll wake Tubbo.”

Shock clipped onto the boys’ faces.

“How do you know their names?” the eldest said, brow furrowing.

Estarra smiled. “I know many things, Wilbur. Ranboo, we have more soup, dear. Stop trying to eat the bowl.”

“Are you a witch or something?” Tommy said brashly as Ranboo gingerly set the bowl he had been licking the bottom of down.

“Not exactly. I’m an immortal. I’ve learned a thing or two over the centuries.”

“Huh,” Ranboo slurred sleepily, tapping at the bowl. “People say Dad’s an immortal. Techno too.”

“Ranboo!” Wilbur and Tommy shouted at the same time. “We don’t tell creepy immortals who kidnapped us, stripped us naked, tried to drown us, then made us eat soup things like that!” Tommy scolded.

“I thought she was very nice to save us from that weirdo,” Ranboo muttered, face red.

“What if she’s weirder! She did say she needed slaves!”

Estarra smiled to herself, her hunch correct. It had been so easy to slip into the boys’ minds while they were tired and stressed and find the information she had been looking for. They hadn’t even known she’d brushed through their memories in the bath room. A few checks in her magic mirror had all but confirmed her theories.

“I think it’s time you retire,” she said gently, standing. “You’ve all had a rough few days, I’d imagine.”

She knew exactly what they’d been through. The knowledge made her stomach churn and her blood curdle with rage, but she had to keep calm around the boys. She could see that even though they were putting a brave face, and doing a remarkable job, Tommy and Wilbur especially, they were terrified. 

“Are you getting to let us go?”

Everyone jumped a bit at Tubbo’s question—the boy had awakened without anyone noticing.

Estarra smiled. “I need to check a few things first. Be assured, you will be safe. I have no desire to harm any of you.” 

Wilbur narrowed his chocolate-melty eyes. “How do we know you’re not lying?” 

“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have already done it.” Estarra gestured to the servants. “Bring them to the prepared room. Make sure they stay there.” She put on her calmest, more reassuring smile. “I will see you boys in the morning."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!
> 
> I dont have to keep calling them the "brunet" and the "blond" anymore!!
> 
> (That was getting REAL old)


	6. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA, FLUFF!!
> 
> Just to make this clear, I DO NOT ship any of these people...their characters or their real life selves. Three of them are minors for crying out loud!!
> 
> What is portrayed throughout this entire fic was written as and is to be read as parental/sibling/brotherly love. 
> 
> If you take it as anything other than that...apologies, but thats just weird.
> 
> I REPEAT...I DO NOT ship ANY of these characters.

“Do you think she’s going to hurt us?” Tubbo asked Wilbur as his brother jerked at the door handles. They were steadfastly locked. So were the windows.

“I don’t think so,” Wilbur sighed and gave up, rubbing his hand through his still slightly-damp hair. Whether or not he cared to admit it, he was glad for the bath. It had been two weeks since him and his brothers had been nabbed from the woods and smuggled out in the bottom of a covered wagon, sleeping potions and rope and ever-present threats against each other ensuring they stayed quiet and still and cooperative.

Shivering at the thought of the past two weeks of hell, Wilbur gave up on the door. He turned to find all three of his brothers already on the massive overly-soft bed that took up most of the room in the ridiculously luxurious bedroom they had been locked in. The floor had carpet for crying out loud—expensive stuff from the feel of it beneath Wilbur’s bare feet.

They had only been given light shirts and pants that were meant to be slept in after their forced baths; nothing that could be useful if they did manage to get out of the room.

“Maybe she’s going to torture us,” Tommy said, yawning widely and claiming the middle of the bed.

“But that wouldn’t be fun,” Tubbo remarked, swinging his legs on the edge of the bed. The little boy’s broken ankle had been wrapped and set. All the boys’ wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, with plenty of healing cream. Wilbur’s elbow had only been sprained, which he was eternally grateful for, and Tommy’s black eye was already receding.

They had even gotten a healing potion each, the bitter liquid soothing the deep ache and cold that Wilbur had been so sure would never leave his bones. Granted, they’d been forced to swallow the thick red liquid—all four convinced it was poison even though they knew what a healing potion looked like.

Even now the effects of the potion warmed Wilbur’s chest, working on the various cuts, bruises, and deeper injuries.

“There’s a bunch of sickos out there though,” Ranboo said quietly, slipping under the furs and down duvets. “Maybe she just wants to play with her food before she eats it.”

“I don’t think she’s a sicko,” Wilbur said, shoving Tubbo into the middle of the bed. “And I don’t think she’d wanna eat a bunch of skinny skeletons like us.”

“She’s weird,” Tommy said drowsily, snuggled up to Ranboo. A few varied curse words blurred past his lips, but he conked out after the third one. Wilbur was pretty sure Tommy’s healing potion had had a sleeping draught mixed in.

“I don’t think so,” Wilbur said, climbing after Tubbo and kicking Tommy’s lanky legs back to his and Ranboo’s side of the bed. “There’s something about her that seems—off.”

“This is gonna sound weird,” Tubbo murmured, burrowing into the lavender-scented sheets, “but she reminds me of Dad.”

“I hope Dad and Techno find us soon,” Ranboo mumbled, half asleep. “I wanna go home.”

Wilbur bit his lip and worried it between his teeth, letting Tubbo curl into the crook of his body, wrapping his arm around his younger brother and holding him close. He stayed awake for a bit after his three brothers had fallen asleep. He wanted to try to escape, but his brothers were so tired. They wouldn’t make it three feet before either passing out or the strange lady’s guards catching them. And that’s if they made it through the locked door.

Exhaling into Tubbo’s once-again-fluffy hair that spelled of pine shampoo, Wilbur let sleep swallow his beaten and exhausted body.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!!
> 
> Make sure you eat today because you deserve it!!


	7. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estarra contemplates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one I know.  
> Some basic fillers to get everything moving.

Estarra gave the letter to the small owl, pressing a kiss to the downy feathers.

“Pearl-speed, my friend. Hurry quickly.”

The owl cooed softly and flapped away on silent wings. Estarra watched the black owl vanish into the clouds, sorrow wrapping around her heart. Once the owl delivered the message, and the recipients came at her request-- 

It had been a long time since Estarra had faced Philza Core.

If Estarra had asked the Angel of Death to come for any other reason other than his sons—she knew he never would come. She had tried before, to get him to visit, with no response. Philza Core never visited anymore.

Not since his wife had died.

Estarra’s thin fingers tapped the window sill, ignoring the cold that blew in from her window.

Her hands had been cold too, so much colder, like the ice of the Antarctic.

“Hurry, Phil. Your boys need you.”

Heaving against the edginess that quivered in her marrow, she exhaled and closed the window, deciding to check on the boys.

It only took a minute for to walk down the quiet hall to the boys’ room. She had made sure their room was close to hers.

They didn’t stir when she unlocked the door. Wilbur’s soft snores churring in the back of his throat were the only sounds in the darkened room.

Estarra almost felt bad about permeating the room with heavy magic that would ensure the boys would remain in a deep, dreamless sleep while she researched their situation and decided what to do.

They need the rest, she said to herself. She pulled the covers up around Ranboo’s shoulder, smoothed Tommy’s unruly fluff away for his forehead, tucked an extra duvet around Wilbur’s feet, and almost missed Tubbo smushed between his brothers.

They were so peaceful, so innocent.

Whoever did this is. Going. To. Die.

…

The Blood God did not spook easily.

That did not mean that the Blood God never spooked.

Needless to say, the owl nearly ended up with dagger through its gizzard.

Phil chuckled, though the sound was strained. “I think that’s the highest I’ve seen you jump in a long time.”

“Shut up.” Technoblade scowled at the bird. “Shoo.”

The owl cooed and waggled one of its talons at Techno. Techno frowned when he saw the ornate tube tied to the bird’s leg. It only took a second to read the brief message.

“Phil?”

“Yeah?” the older man was bent over a map, little red X’s dotting the map of the terrain and neighboring villages.

“You need to see this.” 

“What?”

“It’s Estarra.”

Phil whipped around at the name, pallor face draining of any remaining color. His massive grey and white wings shuddered as if having a mind of their own.

“She has the boys."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Blood God and the Angel of Death are here!!
> 
> Try and eat today, even if it's just a piece of bread. Do it for me!!
> 
> Thank you!!


	8. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just more fluff and fillers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise theres angst soon...just gotta build up to it.

The boys had been asleep for close to twenty-four hours; the entire castle moved on tiptoes even though the boys were deep in the west wing and couldn’t possibly hear anything more than a few halls down.

Estarra hummed softly to herself, running a special brush tapped in rosemary oil gently through her feathers. The soft purple shimmer of the magic soothed her, sending tingles into her veins.

“Miss?”

Anisa. She had always been an early riser.

“Come in.”

The angelic girl poked her head in the door. “Ready for breakfast?”

“I’ll be eating with the boys,” Estarra said, standing and stretching her wings, feeling the strain of having to hold them in front of her for so long to brush them.

“They’re still asleep.”

“I’ll wait. They should be waking soon.”

“Yes ma’am.”

There was a rustling at the window and Estarra turned to see the owl she had sent the night the boys arrived.

“Leave.”

Anisa left.

Estarra let the owl in, the bird churring as she tickled its head. For the first time in nine years, there was a message in the tube. 

_We’re coming._

…

Tommy didn’t know where he was when he woke up. The last time he had been roused from his sleep, he had woken up in a cold, muddy pit with his hands tied behind his back, Tubbo flopped on top of him, also tied and unconscious. His body had felt like it had been put through hell and back—every bone had felt broken.

This time, Tommy was comfortably warm, everything smelled like cinnamon and pine and lavender, and his throat didn’t hurt from where he’d been choked out. His leg wasn’t sore and the hundreds of cuts and bruises didn’t throb anymore. Even his black eye, which he was pretty sure the socket had been fractured, didn’t hurt.

Something warm shuffled behind him and murmured. A thin arm curled around his chest, seeking comfort.

“Tubbo?” Tommy whispered sleepily.

“Ranboo,” Ranboo corrected, just as drowsily.

“I’m over here.” Tommy opened his eyes to see Tubbo’s fluffy mop in front of his face, snuggled up against Wilbur who was still asleep. 

“What time is it?” Ranboo asked, wrapping his arm tighter around Tommy.

“There’s sun peaking through the curtains,” Tubbo said, the only one could see the window.

“Shut up,” Wilbur suddenly said, stirring.

“But I’m awake now,” Tubbo said, sitting up, letting cold air in under the blanket. Without hesitation, Wilbur close-lined Tubbo back down onto the bed. Tommy muttered curses at him, nestling himself deeper into the heavy blankets.

“Shouldn’t we be a little worried about the crazy lady?” Tubbo pressed, now stuck flat on his back with Wilbur’s lanky arm pinning his own to his sides.

“If she wanted us dead, she would’ve already did it,” Wilbur muttered. “If she wanted to torture us, she would’ve already done it. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”

“But—”

Tommy’s hand flew up and clamped on his younger brother’s mouth.

“You heard Wilbur,” Tommy said. “Shut up.”  
Tubbo, now pinned by Wilbur and silenced by Tommy, huffed noisily and huddled himself up against Wilbur again, deciding he might as well get some more sleep before they died.

…

Estarra watched the boys through her mirror, the purple magic from her fingers rippling across the surface.

They had woken briefly, but had quickly fallen back to sleep. They clung to each like a lifeline, their grips not lessening even sleep.

Estarra glanced at her clock. It was close to noon. Sighing and hungry, she made her way from her room to the kitchen in search of food.

…

Techno didn’t offer conversation to his father. The broad-shouldered blond remained stiff in his saddle, eyes fixed on the road.

The pinkette was used to silence, but not this kind, and especially not from his father.

Techno couldn’t take it any longer.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“What’re you thinking?”

Phil instinctively curled up on himself slightly. Techno was the only one that knew the secret that Phil abhorred, the secret that he had tried to bury with his wife.

“Not now, Techno. Please. Not now.” 

Techno bit his lip, worried for his father. It had been so long--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much!!
> 
> Im almost finished writing it as a whole...just gotta edit it and get it broken up into chapters!!


	9. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estarra gets the boys to trust her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasnt edited as well as the others...sue me Im tired.
> 
> Theres a bit of Wilbur angst...I hope its good!
> 
> This ones a bit longer....enjoy!

Estarra knew it would take Phil at least a week to reach her castle. She had kept tabs on the Angel of Death—for personal reasons—and it was at least a week’s journey. If he hurried, it’d be only five days.

She knocked one knuckle on the boys’ door closer to three in the afternoon, hearing rustling behind only seconds later.

“Boys? Are you awake?” She unlocked the door and opened it to see the four boys sitting bolt upright in bed, backs against the headboard. Estarra smiled—they were all bleary-eyed and bed-headed, Tommy and Wilbur glaring at her while Ranboo and Tubbo just looked scared.

“You’ve been asleep for two nights and a day and a half,” she said. “I was wondering if you were hungry.”

They boys didn’t even blink. Estarra couldn’t help but notice how Wilbur someone had Tommy and Tubbo tucked behind him. His eyes flicked from Ranboo to Estarra several times, and she could almost see the gears turning in his head.

“Your father and brother have been notified. They know your safe and that I have you,” she offered, trying to reassure the boys. “It will take them a week to reach us.”

The boys perked up at the mention of their father.

“How’d you contact him?” Wilbur asked suspiciously.

“Your father and I go way back,” Estarra said cryptically. Quickly, she changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

That seemed to a lower a barrier of some sort.

“Very!” Tubbo launched off the bed toward her, tumbling to the ground with a pained yelp as he forgot about his injured ankle. Estarra caught him and propped him up, the brunet clinging to her skirts.

“I’ll have lunch brought up for us,” she said, picking Tubbo up under the arms and setting him back on the bed and sitting next to him.

She caught the faint patter of servant’s feet behind the door as they ran away to fulfill her wishes without her asking.

“You have wings!” Tommy screeched as Estarra felt a tug on her cape. Sighing at the boy’s racoon-like curiosity, she slipped the light cloak off her shoulders and shook her wings out, almost smacking Wilbur in the face by accident.

“They’re huge!” Ranboo inched forward and ran a bony hand over the larger feathers.

“Dad has wings too!” Tubbo said excitedly, bouncing up and down. “They’re bigger than yours though.” 

“I thought Dad was the last avian hybrid,” Wilbur said in awe, transfixed by the purple enchantments that clung to the feathers.

“There’s a few of us left,” Estarra said, working a tangle out of Tubbo’s hair. “We just hide well. “

“Dad doesn’t have to hide,” Tommy boasted. “He’s the Angel of Death!”

“And your brother is the infamous Blood God, I know,” Estarra said, trying to change the subject.

“We’ve yet to get our talents,” Ranboo said, tapping his fingers together.

“Or have our hybrid traits manifest,” Wilbur sighed. He really wanted to be an avian like Phil, but they had yet to see. So far, out of all them, Techno had been the only one of manifest, and he had turned out to be piglin. 

Estarra laughed and shook her head. “So impatient. Good things come to those who wait, darlings.”

There was another knock on the door and several servants bustled in carrying sets of clothes and trays of food.

The boys ignored the clothes and went straight for the food. Estarra’s heart panged—who could starve a nine-year-old? But she could tell from the way Tubbo scarfed the sandwich he’d manage to grab before Tommy stole the whole plate that somebody didn’t have a problem doing it.

“Easy boys,” she said, tucking her feet under her. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

They ignored her like she knew they would.

…

Estarra’s servants were a mixture of pure delight and fear at the children. Those in delight had helped Estarra pick out warm, well-fitting clothes and shoes for the boys from the extras she had stockpiled for the servants and slipped the boys sweets. 

Those in fear peaked from around corners with wide eyes.

Mostly at Tommy.

The blond was turning out to be quite the terror.

Not that Tubbo was any better, even on a broken ankle, Estarra noticed—the brunet was just quieter and better at farming “awes.” The amount of chaos both boys had managed to produce in the past ten minutes since leaving their room was war level—Estarra personally wondered how Phil hadn’t lost his mind yet.

Not that he would’ve told her if he had.

“Where are we going?” the gangly scamp shot down the marbled hall past Estarra, using the well-waxed floor to see how far he could slide. Tubbo followed, though he slipped and slid a good ten feet on his stomach before Tommy caught him and helped him back up before getting another running start in the opposite direction, Tubbo hot on his heels. The little boy kept up remarkable well, even with his limp.

“The whole castle,” Estarra said, checking behind her to make sure Wilbur and Ranboo, the younger clinging to his brother’s hand, were still behind her. Wilbur still seemed apprehensive; Estarra could see how his eyes darted around, still looking for an escape. “We have a week—I’ll try to keep you lot entertained.”

“You aren’t going to throw us in your dungeon?” Tubbo asked.

“Or torture us?” Ranboo piped.

“Or feed us to your pet tigers?” Tommy added darkly.

“I’m more worried about behind held hostage and used against our dad,” Wilbur muttered. He knew he was walking a thin wire; Estarra could’ve been a bi-polar, manipulative psychopath that was toying with them before she ate them like the witch Tommy had insisted she was—but he had to know.

Estarra took the questions in stride. “That’s why we’re going to the gallery first.”

The gallery turned out to be a massive hallway with a halfway wall in the middle. Oil paintings, watercolor sketches, and abstracts were neatly hung, framed in gilded mahogany frames.

At the end of the hall were two paintings with highly decorative frames that dwarfed the rest.

“That’s Dad!” Tommy pointed wildly, grinning.

“And Techno!” Tubbo added, the two boys darting forward.

The first painting was of Philza Core in full enchanted netherite armor in the Nether, sword drawn, wings flared dramatically in the heat of a battle. There was blood smeared on his stoic face, and one of his wings was missing a few feathers. An explosion was conveniently behind, a pile of wither skeletons at his feet.

“’Philza Core—The Angel of Death—Battle of the Nether,’” Wilbur read the small plague at the bottom. “I didn’t know Dad fought in the Nether.”

“’Technoblade—The Blood God—Battle of the SMP,’” Ranboo read the other. “I remember that! It was a few years ago--something about a dictator that was getting too big for his britches.” The painting was just as intense as the one of the boys’ father. But instead of a stern, gritted face like Phil, Techno had a sardonic, crazed grin, black blood speckled his piglin features, red eyes aglow, as he bore his netherite ax through a soldier’s midsection.

Estarra knew for a fact that the gory painting had given some of her younger staff nightmares, and at least half the castle refused to go into the gallery because of that painting alone.

It didn’t seem to affect the boys, however.

“Techno never liked government,” Tubbo said sagely, looking at the paintings with awe.

“Does this help?” Estarra asked. “Convince you a little bit, at least?”

“I mean it’s kinda weird of you, a supposed stranger that we’ve never seen before, have paintings of our family,” Wilbur said, still looking suspicious.

Estarra smiled tightly. “I have my reasons. Your father can tell you if he wishes; it’s not my place to say.”

She gave one last side glance at the paintings and turned away. Tubbo scrambled after her immediately, Tommy not far behind.

“Where would you like to go next?”

“Do you have bees?”

…

Estarra did indeed have bees.

“THIS IS AMAZING!” Tubbo had not stopped running since Estarra had let the boys loose in her aviary/greenhouse that attached to the beehouse.

At all.

“Tubbo—” Wilbur tried to make a snag for his little brother as the brunet shot past. He missed gloriously, and Tubbo disappeared around a corner screeching at the top of his lungs and disrupting half the wildlife.

“Dad’s gonna kill me if he hurts himself,” Wilbur muttered, rubbing his wrapped elbow. “Hurts himself more,” he added as an afterthought.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened?” Estarra motioned for the wicker chair next to her own.

“There's not much to tell,” Wilbur said, plopping down, keeping an eye on Tommy who was trying to climb a tree to get at a sloth, Ranboo yelling at him all the while. “Dad let us go on a camping trip, Tubbo disappeared, four men appeared. We tried to fight, they grabbed Ranboo, and we were forced to surrender. Next thing I knew, we were in a wagon, miles from home.”

“SHE HAS PARROTS!!”

Wilbur ignored Tubbo. “We tried to put up a fight when we could, but that stopped after Tommy got his black eye and they broke Tubbo’s ankle. One of em wrenched my arm for good measure. I thought it was broken, but luckily it was only sprained.”

Wilbur drew in a hitched breath. “Then they handed us off to that one guy. He didn’t feed us and kept us tied up. We were in that wagon for five days, I think.”

Wilbur seemed to break apart a little. “Tubbo wouldn’t stop crying. We all couldn’t—then I guess we got dehydrated and our bodies couldn’t produce anymore tears.”

Estarra, carefully, put a hand on Wilbur’s arm. The boy didn’t flinch away.

“I thought we were going to die,” Wilbur whispered. “And it would’ve been all my fault.”

“Your fault?” Estarra said, not sure if Wilbur was going to continue.

He almost didn’t. The boy dragged a hand over his face, smearing tears. “I was the one who said we should go _camping_. In _winter_. Dad didn’t want us to, but I made Tubbo and the others beg until he let us.”

“I’M NEVER LEAVING THIS PLACE!”

Wilbur choked on a laugh, exhaling. “They bounce back easy. Give em a few weeks. It’ll be like it never happened.”

“And you?” Estarra asked gently.

Wilbur hesitated. “I couldn’t protect them. If Dad or Techno had of been there—those thugs would never have gotten within ten feet of them. But no, they were stuck with me. The skinny, useless older brother that’s not good at anything but playing a bloody guitar.” His hands clenched, digging his nails into his palms.

“You’re not useless, darling,” Estarra said, pretending she couldn’t see four guards taking off after Tommy out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t wanna know.

“Techno was showing signs of manifesting three years before my age!” Wilbur finally snapped. “Ranboo's already showing signs of being part Ender! Dad and Techno are the greatest warriors since literally ever.” He hesitated, the swallowed hard. “What if—what if I’m not a hybrid? What if I got the ‘normal’ genes in the family?”

Estarra blinked. That had to have been the first time she had heard someone say they wanted to be a hybrid. Most people would have been devastated to find out they manifested. It usually meant ostracization and hatred wherever you went.

Estarra, carefully, let her magic flow through her arm into the boy. 

Wilbur blinked, feeling her magic work, then took his hand away. “What’re you doing?”

“Hybrids have magic,” Estarra said, rubbing her fingers together, working her magic between them. “That’s what makes us hybrids. It just takes practice to read it.”

“And?!” Wilbur did a one-eighty. He had looked ready to cry seconds earlier, but now he was sitting up straight, all bright-eyed.

Estarra smiled and the let the magic vanish. “That would ruin the surprise, sweetheart. Don’t worry though.” Estarra stood, brushing off her skirt. “Something tells me you are in for a surprise.”

“A good surprise?” Wilbur asked, following her.

Estarra laid a thin hand on Wilbur’s cheek. “Good things come to those who wait. As an immortal, I should know. Worrying is a waste of time, Wilbur.”

Wilbur looked slightly disappointed, but followed Estarra as she started towards the growing sounds of chaos from the other side of the garden.

“Tommyyyyy _yyyyyy_ ,” Tubbo let out one of his best whines. “Give it baaaccckkkk.”

“Screw off, bi—”

“Tommy!” Ranboo scolded. “You know what Dad said about calling us names!”

“Screw off, bit—”

“Tommy,” Wilbur sighed. “I’ll tell Dad.”

Tommy’s face contorted. “Bi—bast—TATTLETALE!!”

“Congratulations, Tommy. You’ve graduated to fourth grade insults,” Tubbo said, snatching what Tommy had stolen from him.

“You’re going to smash it!” Ranboo started fighting Tubbo for it.

Wilbur groaned.

“I’m starting to wish those thugs had killed me,” he said.

“Boys.” Estarra said anxiously. “Tell me you didn’t catch one of the bunnies—”

The three boys froze and Wilbur’s eyes widened. A small squeak came from Tubbo’s and Ranboo’s hand.

“Boys.”

Ranboo let Tubbo have it and his little brother set it down gently. Sure enough, a baby rabbit huddled in the grass for approximately three seconds before shooting off as quickly as its little legs could go.

“How bout we visit the music room?” Estarra said, pushing Tommy along and grabbing Tubbo’s hand.

…

Wilbur loved the music room.

Tommy did not.

And since Tommy didn’t, neither did Tubbo.

And since Tubbo didn’t, neither did Ranboo.

The three escaped rather quickly.

Wilbur, however, thought he died and went to heaven.

“You have everything here!” he said, wandering down an aisle that cradled several antique, priceless violins. Estarra smiled to herself; the music room had taken several centuries to build and fill.

The rather large room sported its own stage, several baby grand pianos (three of which were owned by Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach respectively), an organ that took up a whole side of the wall, and hundreds of stands containing cellos, guitars, harps, clarinets, and trumpets. The wall opposite the organ was completely engulfed in a built-in bookshelf filled with the history of music, biographies of great musicians, and sheets upon sheets of music written by masters.

“Do you like it?” Estarra asked, her voice echoing in the paneled room.

“Yeah!” Wilbur had already claimed a guitar, a Yamaha that was worth thousands.

If it had been Tommy, Estarra would’ve confiscated the guitar in seconds. Somehow, she knew Wilbur would treat the guitar like a baby.

Estarra left Wilbur with a few servants to explore the music room (Estarra wondered how long it would take Wilbur to discover the anterooms that contained even more surprises) to find where the other boys went.

The rare weapons room.

Of course.

“Tommy,” Estarra said carefully. “Do you know how much that is?”

“Nope!” Tommy swung the ancient sword that belonged to Alfred the Great as if it were a stick he had found off the forest floor.

Estarra hissed through her teeth as Tommy nearly took a chunk out of a complete antique samurai armor set and used her magic to swipe the sword, setting it carefully back in its stand.

“Dearest, that costs more than you will ever see in your life,” she said, grabbing the boy around the collar as he tried to grab a spear carried by William the Conqueror. “That does too.”

“Woah!” Tommy said, ignoring the clamp on his neck. “Are you loaded?!”

“Tommy that’s rude!” Tubbo said, subtly sliding a ruby-handled dagger that Joan of Arc owned, back into its case.

“Where’s Ranboo?” Estarra asked, looping her arm through Tubbo’s and swiftly hauling the boy’s out of the room (that collectively cost almost as much as the rare art room and precious gem collection combined), quickly locking the door.

“In there,” Tommy said innocently as soon as Estarra slid the key out.

Estarra stared at him, debating whether or not if she could go find the mercenaries, or if it was too late for that.

As if on cue, there was a polite knocking on the door.

“Miss Estarra? Can you let me out?”

Estarra held back a sigh and reopened the door. The little boy darted out, grinning.

“Not ah.” It was Ranboo’s turn to get snagged by the collar. “Hand it over.”

Ranboo pouted, but gave her the stiletto that the piratess Ching Shih had considered her prized possession. Estarra snapped her fingers, sending it back to its sheath with her magic.

“I catch you lot in there again--” she waved a finger good-naturedly in Tommy’s face. “And you’ll meet those tigers you were so interested in earlier.”  
“Wait, you really have tigers?!” Tommy started jumping up and down on the balls of his feet. “Showmeshowmeshowme—”

“Showusshowusshowushowus!” Tubbo corrected, with Tommy and Ranboo quickly joining. Tubbo and Ranboo grabbed her hands while Tommy darted behind her and started pushing her along.

“How has your father not lost his mind?” Estarra laughed, going along with the boys.

“We’re very positively sure he already has,” Tubbo said.

…

Estarra fluffed the comforter while the boys shot around the suite, burning up the last bit of their energy. Well, except for Ranboo, who was busy making a nuisance of himself while Estarra tried to make the bed.

Estarra had offered them their own rooms, but even Tommy had insisted on sharing. All the while screeching over dinner that he wasn’t clingy while his brothers looked on in amusement and Tubbo called him out on his bullcrap.

So Estarra gave them a larger suite, complete with several rooms attached.  
“Alright boys,” Estarra said, patting the bed Ranboo was already in. “I’m old and tired and you lot have worn me out. Get in.”

The three immediately piled into the bed, Tommy pouncing on Ranboo who shrieked. Tubbo fell asleep the literal second he faceplanted into the smack middle of the bed, Wilbur sighing as he reached for his little brother’s legs to get his shoes off.

“I hate it when he does that. Not fair,” Ranboo grumbled as Tommy kicked his own shoes across the room as hard as he could, almost shattering the mirror, Estarra catching them with her magic before it could.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, hiding under the blankets and shamelessly latching onto Ranboo.

“And three, two--” Wilbur lowered his fingers, watching the blond, “--one.”

Tommy stared snoring.

“Not fair at all.” Ranboo grumped—but he didn’t shove Tommy off.

Estarra pulled the blanket up over Wilbur’s shoulder, smiling as Tubbo, dead asleep, curled up against Wilbur’s chest subconsciously. Wilbur, half out of it himself, wrapped an arm around his little brother.

Estarra snuffed the candles and lowered the shade on the glow-stone lamps. She paused at the door, a pang in her heart as she paused at the door. 

_I missed this—I missed this so much._

She let the boy’s have their rest.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't figure out why some of my chapters have 2 sets of notes...sorry!!


	10. Buildup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estarra doesn't like strangers in her castle.
> 
> Neither do the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This load of bullcrap was thrown together during Management class at 11 o'clock on a Friday and then edited in a half-asleep state later that same night after work. 
> 
> I have also discovered that I suck at writing the following...
> 
> 1\. Fight scenes
> 
> 2\. Chapter summaries
> 
> 3\. Chapter titles
> 
> 4\. And tws. Just realized I went this whole thing without any. And while I do believe your triggers are your own responsibility, I'll do my best to put more out anyway just in case. 
> 
> Any typos are not my concern because I'm too tired to care.
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
> Tws: yelling, minor threats, kidnapping

“You have to sleep.” Techno was worried.

Techno didn’t like being worried.

It made his anxiety spike which made him feel out of control.

Techno didn’t like feeling out of control.

“It’s been two weeks,” Techno said as his father glared at the fire they had built. “And then some. The boys are safe. You need sleep.”

Phil didn’t answer, just continued to stare into the woods. It was the first time they stopped since receiving Estarra’s note, and solely because the horses simply couldn’t go any farther.

“Dad,” Techno laid a hand on his father’s shoulder.

Phil let out a shaky sigh. “Wake me up in a few hours.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Both knew Techno was lying.

Techno relaxed as Phil’s breathing deepened within minutes of him lying down.

Techno settled back against his tree, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself, settling in for a long night.

…

It was the fourth day of letting the Core boys run rampant through her castle when Estarra got the uneasy feeling.

Not just her regular anxiety either—a bad feeling that went deep into her bones and even affected her magic.

And as she had learned, in thousands of years past, that feeling was never wrong.

…

Wilbur had spent too long in the music room, and he knew it.

Estarra had loosened up on following the boys around almost completely over the past two days, letting them have free reign.

Wilbur had contemplated escaping, but that plan had died the second he took a step outside. It was easily thirty degrees below zero—in the middle of the day. That plan had died immediately, and he gone back to the music room. If his father and brother weren’t here in a week like Estarra had promised, then they’d think of a different plan.

Wilbur yawned, working out the crick in his neck. Estarra had given him permission to sort one of the anterooms he had found that was basically acting as storage. It was helping his anxiety with being away from home. 

And the pressure of what his dad was going to say about letting him and his brothers getting caught.

His dad would never yell at him—Phil had never once raised his voice to his children—but he had been disappointed before.

The look of disappointment he had once given Wilbur because Wilbur had shoved Tubbo down the stairs out of anger had been worse than any backhand or yelled words.

Wilbur sighed, wondering if any of the cooks would still be there and be willing to make him some tea.

He didn’t have to worry about tea for long.

As he rounded the corner to the bedroom wing, a hand shot from the shadows and clamped on his mouth. The muffled scream was forced back down his throat as an arm wrapped around his waist, pinning his arms to his waist.

“Hello, little Angelson.”

Wilbur’s heart fell through the floor.

_Dream._

The demi-god and his men were the only ones that called Phil’s children that.

His heart jack-rabbiting out of his chest, Wilbur desperately tried to struggle, but the wiry man was much stronger. His arm, like an iron band, compressed around Wilbur’s chest, digging the older man’s netherite armor painfully into Wilbur’s back.

“Let’s see if my men have found the rest of your miserable family.”

The whisper was low, and couldn’t have possibly carried more than a few feet, but it sent chills of raw fear straight to Wilbur’s chest.

He tried kicking as Dream began to drag him away from the bedroom wing, to the front lobby, but Dream hefted him along as if he weighed nothing.

Sure enough, to Wilbur’s eternal horror, three more men, armed to the teeth and wearing full netherite, were standing at the base of the grand staircase, his brothers sat on the bottom step.

All looked terrified.

“Any trouble from the witch?” Dream said under his breath once he had pushed Wilbur next to his brothers. Tubbo immediately latched onto Wilbur’s arm, burying his face in Wilbur’s chest, silent sobs wracking his small frame. Ranboo was crying too, and Tommy was desperately fighting it.

“None.”

George Found, Dream’s right-hand man. Known for being utterly merciless with his prey. His jaw was set and any light or laughter that had once existed in his soft brown eyes had long since shriveled up and died. Wilbur glanced at the other two and swallowed hard.

Sapnap, a blaze hybrid known for torturing children just to hear them scream, and Halo, a demon straight from the pits of hell that found tears of agony _funny_.

Dream had pulled his best generals from the war front just to capture the sons of the Angel of the Death.

_We’re going to die._

Whatever conversation the four were having ended and Dream reached for Wilbur again.

“Scream, any of you, and that little brat will be the first to die.”

“Cuz you’re too scared to face me as a man yourself,” Wilbur hissed, fear fueling a bull-headed bravery that was probably going to get him killed. “No, you’ll pick on a _child_ instead.”

Tommy snorted back a laugh, clapping his hands over his mouth and even Ranboo smirked.

“In fact, you’re so much a big man, you’ll fight the Angel of Death’s _children_ instead of fighting him head-on like a real warrior.” Wilbur plowed on, steadily raising his voice, making sure Tubbo was safely behind him. “Pathetic, really. The famous speed-runner, Slayer of Hundred Ender Dragons, reduced to using children as chess pieces in game you are so horrendusouly outmatched in it’s not even funny.”

Wilbur saw the gloved hand raise to slap him and he closed his eyes instinctively for the pain. 

“I would suggest—”

The four captors and their captives all jumped and Ranboo yelped a bit as they all turned to see Estarra at the top of the stairs.

“—that you not do that.”

The woman was radiating a raw magic that seemed to deaden the air itself. Her wings were flared behind her, but not threateningly—more as a show of power really.

Wilbur felt a tendril of some strange emotion worm down his spine. It wasn’t fear—she was on their side (he was almost positive)—but something else.

“I warned you all those years ago, Dreamon.” Estarra was taking the stairs leisurely, hands folded in front of her, dress cascading on the steps behind. “This is _my domain_."

Wilbur could’ve _sworn_ the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Her tone had taken on the same hollow, echoey lilt when she had interrogated the driver. 

“And yet here you are—” Estarra spread her hands to the sides in question. “—in my palace and manhandling my wards. Why is that?” 

Dream didn’t answer, but Wilbur could see the makings of scowl beneath the porcelain mask. 

Estarra refolded her hands. “I asked a question, _boy._ I would suggest you answer.” 

Silence. Not even Tommy dared snicked at the insult. 

Estarra waited a grand total of ten seconds before sighing and clapping her hands. “Well then. Since you don’t want to play nice, neither will I.”  
Estarra’s wings, drenched in shimmery enchanted magic, flared backwards and her right flew forward. 

Dream careened backwards, hit by an invisible force, and slammed into the wall, cracking the marble. He was clearly unconscious from the single blow, but Estarra’s magic pinned him there anyway. 

George made it one step before Estarra’s magic grabbed him around the throat and lifted him off his feet, holding him well above the rest. 

Sapnap and Halo rushed her at the same time—Sapnap avoided the first swing of magic but not the second. He joined George. 

Halo got pinned to the wall next to his boss. 

What must’ve taken ages of planning was undone in ten seconds. Wilbur choked on a pitiful, nerve-wracked laugh. The infamous Dream himself was unconscious from a wave of an elderly woman’s hand. 

It would have been rather hilarious if that same Dream hadn’t threatened Tubbo only two minutes earlier. 

Wilbur had a headache. 

“Well, that was invigorating.” Estarra approached the boys, dusting her hands off. “We all okay?” 

Ranboo tackle-hugged her. 

“Hot chocolate and a warm fire in the library?” Estarra asked, hugging Ranboo back. 

Wilbur nodded, the horror slowly leaving his system as he realized he was safe. His brothers were safe. His father’s greatest enemy was currently pinned to the wall, out cold. His lackeys were struggling vainly against (what Wilbur hoped) unbreakable magic. 

They were safe. 

“I’ll have to run these vermin to the dungeon,” Estarra said as Ranboo pulled away, wiping his face off. “Did you want to come with me or head to the library?” 

“You.” All four boys spoke at once. 

Estarra smiled and waved her hand, bringing the three thrashing prisoners and the unconscious one toward her, then down the hall. 

The boys followed, but far behind her. 

_…_

Estarra sipped her hot chocolate and stared into the fire. The boys were asleep on the floor at her feet in a mountain of pillows and blankets she had created out of thin air. 

The boys didn’t need to know they were soaked in dreamless magic that would ensure no nightmares, or dreams, for a few weeks. 

She set the mug down and sighed, stretching her wings out. It had been a long time since she had been in a physical altercation—not that anything about the poor excuse of a fight had been ‘physical.’ 

Her magic was still tingling in her wrists and through her shoulders to her wings and each individual feather. It made her feel alive again. 

She exhaled and let the stress and adrenaline from sensing people were in her castle that weren’t supposed to be there out. She had nearly panicked upon sensing the Dreamer’s sickly green aura so deep in her stronghold. 

He had gotten better at hiding from her. 

In the end it didn’t matter. 

Estarra had never lost to the Heirs of the Dreamons. 

And she’d been fighting them for thousands of millenniums past. 

She wasn’t about to start losing now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill...eat and drink something, get some sleep, and get your hw done or I will come for u....
> 
> ...and give u a hug because if youre not taking care of yourself you obviously need one.
> 
> Let me know if this is any good!!


	11. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Angel of Death comes for his children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one, I know. 
> 
> But the ending....

The rest of the week passed relatively quickly after the attack. The boys bounced back rather easily, though they stuck together now, practically glued at the hips.

They adored Estarra’s castle, exploring nooks and crannies she had almost forgotten about. 

Estarra loved every minute of it.

It had been so quiet in the castle before—Tommy took quite care of that with Ranboo and Tubbo in his wake, and even Wilbur joining in on the chaos on a regular basis.

So when the servant came running up to Estarra saying the Angel of Death and the Blood God were waiting for her at the front gates, a twang of sorrow mixed with the apprehension and dread.

“I’ll meet them in the rose garden,” she sighed, getting to her feet from her desk where she had been catching up on paperwork that had been piling up since the boys had come.

“The—uh—Mr. Core seems quite agitated, miss.”

“Let him be agitated,” Estarra clipped. “I’m not quite worried about his feelings right now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

…

It had been a long time since Estarra had faced Philza Core.

Not a single thing had changed about the stoic-faced avian.

Estarra forced her heartbeat to settle as she walked toward the waiting warriors.

It’s so calm today, Estarra thought to herself absentmindedly, the taps of her winter boots clicking against the stone in a way that sounded morbidly like seconds ticking away on a clock.

The man and his son rose from where they sat on the edge of the fountain when they saw her coming.

Technoblade the Blood God bowed slightly at the waist as she approached. Philza, however, kept his back ramrod straight.

“Philza Core,” Estarra greeted the father. She nodded to the son. “Technoblade. It’s been too long.”

“An eternity wouldn’t have been long enough,” Philza said flatly. “Where are my sons.” It was a statement, not a question.

Estarra nodded to Anisa, the only servant brave enough to get within fifty feet of the two legends. The little angel curtsied and skiffed away.

“They’ll be here shortly.”

“Good.”

Philza crossed his arms, Technoblade looking quite uncomfortable.

“Where’d you find them? We’ve been looking for them everywhere for weeks,” Techno asked. 

“Mercenaries had them captured. They were to be delivered to the village at the base of the mountain. The men who hired the mercenaries were the Dreamon and his three generals. You’ll be happy to know they are currently locked away in my dungeons, undergoing inquisitions until an escort comes to take them to the capitol for their crimes.”

“We’re thankful for your help,” Techno said graciously, though he had stiffened at the mention of Dream. 

“It’s the least you could have done, all things considered,” Phil said shortly.

“Dad,” Techno sighed. “Please.”

Phil gritted his jaw, wings spread slightly behind him defensively.

Estarra met his gaze head-on, face indifferent. She would not be cowed by Philza Core, out of all people.

He was her son, after all.

The only child born to an immortal avian that bore magic rival to the gods and a human mortal that had single-handedly slayed the Ender Dragon goddess.

The only avian that had made it through five separate wars in the Nether, subduing the piglin hoards and giving them a sense of government stability and trade with the Overworld--and made it out with his wings intact.

The only warrior that could take on an entire army armed to the teeth without batting an eye—and win--without a single loss under his belt.

The only immortal that had sired five sons, five heirs, with one woman in one lifetime—all of whom carried prime hybrid blood in their veins. 

The only creature alive that dared to go against Estarra Core.

His mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEIIIGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!
> 
> *Thats a high pitched scream in case you didnt know*


	12. Hindsight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so happy with this!! 
> 
> *insert crazy giggles*
> 
> Tws: death, loss, fear

Estarra Core had sworn she’d never marry again.

Not after her last love.

Not after she had outlived the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—none of whom had inherited her immortal blood or her hybrid genes.

It’s not like they wanted to be associated with a dirty ‘mobblood’ anyway.

It’s not like they ‘cared.’

Estarra Core had sworn she’d never love again.

She locked herself away in her castle with her treasures and her books and her magic. Away from the world that despised her. Away from love.

_Never again._

Until the gangly brunet with a smile wider than the ocean and fire-cracker blue eyes broke in through her kitchen window at two in the morning.

He was a thief, a rogue—running from the world.

Estarra didn’t care—she tossed him right back out, not caring if he lived or died.

But no matter how many times Estarra threw him out, he still came back.

At first for safety (nobody would dare wander into the witch’s castle and he was too bull-headed and stupid to know any different), and then for her. At first, he brought himself--battered, bruised and bloody; then he brought a flower.

Then a whole bouquet.

Then sweets and sugary candies Estarra hadn’t had in centuries.

He started to make something of himself, just for her. He went back to school, got three jobs. Cleaned himself up and stopped stealing. All for the “pretty little songbird in the castle on the hill.”

On particular bad days when she’d lock him out of the castle entirely (don’t let him in, I can’t let him in, I can’t love again, I just can’t), he’d sit outside her window, softly strumming on a beat-up old guitar and singing with a voice smoother than honey and richer than dark chocolate.

It wasn’t much longer till he brought a ring.

Estarra said no.

She said no so many times—and he never gave up, not caring that she was thousands of years his senior, though she still appeared as a twenty-something.

He never got discouraged, or downtrodden. 

Not once, though she refused him for ten years.

Until finally, the silly boy with dimples and a black eye and a big mouth, now a man with prince-life features and an army at his command, broke down her iron will that she had had an immortal lifetime to build.

Somehow, she wasn’t angry at him.

Estarra Core learned something the day she let that boy into her aching, bleeding heart and let him heal her.

No matter how short, no matter how much pain came at the end—love was always, _always_ , worth it.

A few seconds of love was more powerful than decades of hate.

And even when her husband fell in battle—fifteen years into their marriage—Estarra knew it had been worth it. Even as she laid the first love of her life in centuries into the cold ground. 

She had saved every gift he had ever given her. Every flower, every stupid little poem he had written to make her laugh—but his greatest gift, her new greatest treasure, was growing inside her.

Estarra hadn’t wanted more children.

But he had waited and pled and wheedled till Estarra could no longer tell him no.

She was eternally grateful she had listened to him.

She was just sorry her husband never got to hold his only child.

…

Philza had been born during the worst thunderstorm that Estarra had ever seen. Her being an immortal—that was saying something.

Estarra’s magic did not protect her from the pain that came with childbirth. Estarra’s magic did not protect her from the sheer agony that came from bearing the first immortal to be born planet-wide since the days of Genghis Khan. 

But it had been worth it.

The physical anguish and trauma that shattered her connection to the magical realm for a solid decade was worth it.

All for the little blond baby boy with sea-green eyes that had held a storm from the second he was born.

All for the only remnant of her passed husband.

All that remained of her love.

Phil grew slowly—as most immortals do, even second-generation ones. A decade was like a year for him.

Estarra gave her child everything.

He loved music, art, weapons—all of it. It was quickly determined that whatever the bright-eyed boy put his mind to, he mastered. Violin, the sword, painting—didn’t matter. He could even cook and sew, and delighted making things for his mother.

It was one of Estarra’s proudest moments when her little boy manifested into his hybrid blood. She had had countless children over the millenniums, and Philza was the only one to have her wings. They changed, of course, over the years, but at first they were hers.

It took a century for Phil to reach the physical appearance of a twenty-five-year-old.

It took a day for him to fall in love.

Estarra was suspicious at first of the black-haired beauty with a contagious laugh and powerful magic and the ability to enchant everyone with her gorgeous smile.

But Estarra had learned to love again and it was only a matter of time before she watched her precious son marry the love of his life.

Estarra had a daughter now, and the two women became very fast, very close friends. Their love of magic and of Phil drew them together and they often kept each other company while Phil was away at war. 

Only a short five years later, after Phil had conquered the Nether and been proclaimed a hero several times over, Phil was handing Estarra her first grandchild—a boy with red eyes and his grandfather’s devilish smile.

And he was a hybrid, a powerful one at that.

A piglin hybrid hadn’t been born since the days of de Vinci. 

Estarra knew his future would be bright.

Another five years, and he was giving her another child, all while little Technoblade (the name was too big for the baby, but Phil had insisted the boy be named for Estarra’s sire) cooed and laughed.

This child, another son, had his grandfather’s hair and love of music.

It was shortly after little Wilbur, named for Phil’s best friend who had died in battle, that Estarra watched her world, carefully built on love, decay and fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take care of yourself because you're the only you this world's gonna get!!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!!


	13. Fall Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past has come back to haunt mother and son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Careful folks...tws: yelling, death, blame, slight panic, magic, angst
> 
> Almost done!!

Estarra blinked at the screams of a happy Tommy.

She hadn’t delved that deep in thought in a long time.

She couldn’t help but hold back a smile as the four Core boys nearly trampled Anisa in their haste to get to their father.

“Dad!!”

The tension slid off Phil’s face and a look Estarra hadn’t seen in years took its place.

The avian kneeled, only to be almost steamrolled by his four youngest sons. The boys looked rather ridiculous in the oversized cloaks Anisa had probably forced them to wear to ward off the cold, but Estarra didn’t think now would be a good time to laugh.

“We knew you’d come!!” Tubbo bounced up and down, ankle fully healed.

Technoblade clapped a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, almost knocking him over. “You kept em alive. Good job.”

Wilbur blinked in surprise, and looked to the ground.

“Let’s get going,” Phil said, picking Ranboo and Tommy up as he stood. His icy glare made Estarra’s heart throb. “We’re not wanted here.”

The boys exchanged glances, confused by their father’s words.

“Of course we are!” Ranboo said. “Estarra loves us!”

“She chose an odd time to start,” Phil said, setting the two on his horse.

“Phil—” Estarra started, taking a step forward. “Please—”

“No.” Phil’s shoulders were hunched against his mother as he picked a confused Tubbo up next.

“Phil. After all this time?”

He turned slowly, eyes filled with disgust. “And what makes you think that a paltry nine years would dull that kind of hatred?”

Estarra straightened her spine. “I did what I could that day. You know it.”

“You didn’t do enough.”

“I couldn’t have saved her, I tried—”

“NOT HARD ENOUGH!!”

Everyone in the courtyard reared back. The four boys scrambled behind Techno, the only one who hadn’t flinched.

They had never, once, heard their father yell. Not when Tommy had pulled out a handful of feathers in a tantrum, not when Ranboo had clawed Phil in a nightmare, not when Tubbo had broken his father’ favorite bow.

It terrified them more than the two weeks with the mercenaries. Techno grit his teeth and forced an air of indifference on his face, letting his brothers cling to him even though Ranboo’s claws were digging into the soft part of his arm and Wilbur (for all his skinniness and apparent lack of muscles) had a grip of iron on his wrist.

Estarra blinked back tears, folding her hands up to her chest. When she spoke it was barely a whisper. “Are you so blinded by hate that you honestly think that I let her die on purpose?? I loved her the same as you!”

“You could’ve saved her!” Philza shouted, wings flared. “You have that power!”

“I do not have the power to challenge the gods!” Estarra bristled, matching his stance, her smaller but still impressive wings spreading as anger heated her magic.

“You did for my father!”

“Your father had the gods’ grace! Kristen did not!”

The two avians froze at the name.

There was a solid ten seconds of silence. 

“Why are you arguing about Mom?” Ranboo asked very quietly, tears streaming down his face.

“I’ll explain when we get home—”

“You didn’t tell them.” Estarra’s voice was flat, hurt.

“Why should I tell the boys about their mother’s killer?” Phil knew the words would hurt. They always had before. “Why should they have to feel the pain of knowing their own grandmother wouldn’t save their mother?”

Estarra glanced at the boys and saw everything from confusion to horror to sheer shock on their faces.

“This is not a conversation to be held in front of the children,” Estarra said, trying to lead Phil away from the boys.

“Why not?!” Phil seemed to have lost his reason, slapping her hand to the side. “Maybe’s it’s time they learned the truth!”

“I didn’t kill her!!”

“Stop lying!! You had your magic!!”

“I coul—” 

“You had the power to save her and you didn’t and she died because of you—"

“SHE WOULD HAVE BECOME AN IMMORTAL!!” Estarra lost it. Utterly and completely. “BUT NOT LIKE YOU OR I!!” Magic boomed in the air, storm clouds manifesting above in mere seconds, Estarra radiating a strength Phil had forgotten she had.

The blond went from angry to terrified in a split second—with good reason. A bitter wind picked up of nowhere and bit into the small gathering. Tubbo cried out, clinging to Wilbur as lighting ripped through the darkened sky.

The heavens itself paused as the only creature alive that could face the gods and live grew angry for the first time in nine years.

Estarra ignored the noise, her grandchildren, her trembling and kneeling servants--all of her focus was on her son.

Her _son_.

“The combining of our magic and the curse in her bones would have deemed her unable to die—EVER!!” A swing of her arm, and a nearby tree was struck by a whiplash of lightning, exploding on impact.

Tommy and Tubbo whimpered and Techno pulled them tightly behind him as Estarra continued.

“ _We_ get to choose when we die, when we leave this life! SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE!!”

Estarra got up in Phil’s face, seemingly unperturbed that she had to crane her neck to look into her son’s dread-drenched eyes.

“Can you _imagine_? Once you and I and the boys had lost the will to hang on and drifted off to the afterlife? After she had lived countless millennia--having to love only to lose that love thousands of times over? Unable to die, let go? After this planet had rotted away beneath her feet and died to time?”

Phil’s breath caught in his throat. 

“She would have floated through the expanse of space, unable to breathe. She’d suffocate, only to be revived and suffocate again. Her mind would have turned to ASH within minutes! And she’d never leave this life, stuck FOREVER there. She never would have seen you again, trapped in a never-ending cycle of pure agony that not even the gods could have changed!

Phil had tears streaming down his face and he seemed to have trouble breathing.

But Estarra plowed on, though not as harshly as she realized she was finally getting through to her son. “In letting her die, I saved her eternity. I couldn’t save her life, but I saved her soul.” She hiccupped, angrily smearing at the tears on her cheeks. “You should be _thanking_ me—”

“For letting her die?!—you didn’t even _try_ —” Phil interrupted her only to be interrupted himself.

Not with a shout this time—a whisper.

“Do you know _when_ she was cursed?” Estarra said, very quietly. The wind settled to a soft kiss, but the clouds above remained. A warning.

Phil stuttered, not expecting the question. “Shortly after Tommy—”

He broke off after seeing Estarra shake her head.

“She was cursed while pregnant with Ranboo.”

“But--?! The curse—” Phil whipped to look at Ranboo, as if afraid the boy was suddenly sick and decaying right then and there.

“He was only a week old inside her,” Estarra said, hugging herself. “She didn’t even know, but I did. Then she went and angered the gods—using her magic and her gifts in ways that she had no right as a mortal. Contrary to your popular opinion,” she glared at her son, “I was _devastated_. No one offends the gods and lives—they usually die a slow horrible death for their entertainment. And to know that her child was going so suffer the same fate?” Estarra shuddered. “We barely made it in time.”

Phil swallowed hard. “Made what?”

Estarra fixed him with a clear, level gaze. “The reason, the _sole_ reason, you had those last three years with your wife, and your last three sons _alive_ , was because I took the curse upon myself.”

Phil blanched.

Estarra gave a small laugh, pained and tired. The clouds above began to dissipate as the small woman seemed to fold in on herself. “With both our magic combined, and a little luck, we tricked the gods. I bore her curse—she protested greatly, of course—but when I told her she carried Ranboo—” Estarra smiled fondly. “I named him, you know.”

Phil blinked. “Kristen said—”

“That ‘Ranboo’ was the name of her great-granduncle twice removed?” Estarra chuckled. “Ranboo was actually a pet name for my little brother when we were kids. Because I bore her curse for three years and let her bear three more children, she let me name one of them.”

Estarra glanced at the little raven-haired boy who looked utterly terrified. “He even looks a bit like lil’ Ranboo.” She shook her head, brow settling. “We could only fool the gods for so long. It was two weeks after Tommy was born. In their wrath, they placed her under a worse curse, one that gave her only hours to live. The old curse died, leaving me free to use my magic. I staved off most of the pain, long enough for you to get here.”

She bit her lip. “I tried everything in those hours—everything short of ripping her soul apart and putting it back together as an immortal. _Everything_.” Estarra buried her face in her palms. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. You ran in mere minutes before her final breath—long enough to say goodbye.”

When she looked back up, her eyes were bitter. “If I hadn’t intervened, you never would’ve gotten to say ‘I love you’ for the last time. If I hadn’t stepped in and taken her curse, you would only have two sons.”

Estarra drew in a shaky, hitched breath, ignoring how her son looked ready to crumble into a million little pieces right then and there. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her. I really am. No matter what you think, I loved her just as much as you did.”

She turned away from her son, wings tightly folded. “Then you went and _left_. Took the only thing I had left of her, took away the only sunlight I had left in my life after I watched her die. I was so very, very _alone_.” A sobbed gasp. “I believed you for so long.” Her voice was barely above a breath. “That it was all my fault, that I was the reason that beautiful ray of sunlight was taken from this world too early from her sons, from her husband.” 

She coughed hollowly. “It took me nine years to realize that you were just angry, that it wasn’t my fault.”

“I tried to fix things—I sent _so many letters_ , only to be ignored for years.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Then I went and had that vision about my grandchildren and left my castle for the first time in nine years—only to find out that none of them, not Wilbur, not the child I saved, not the two babies that I _held_ , remembered or knew me.”

She turned around slowly, looking incredibly vulnerable. A complete one-eighty from what she had been a few minutes ago. “Do you really hate me that much that you not only denied me my grandchildren and my only child, but that _you wouldn’t even tell them about me_?”

Phil couldn’t seem to find words. He stood there, unable to move, to form a single sound. Tears were pouring down his face, mouth open as he struggled for something comprehensive.

Estarra laid a thin hand on his cheek, smoothing away the tears, ignoring how her son stiffened. “You look so much like your father,” she whispered.

Phil gently took her hand, only one word making it past his lips. “Mom--”

“Don’t,” Estarra sighed. “Don’t apologize if you’re not going to mean it. And we both know it’d take more than one rant for you to change what you think of me.”

She dropped her hand, exhaling deeply, as if a mountain-sized weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “At least you finally know the truth. After all these years. I can leave in peace now.”

That seemed to snap some sense into Phil. “What’d you mean?”

“I’m ready to go,” Estarra said simply, stepping back and folding her hands in front of her. “The arrangements have been made for my staff--they’ll be safe. The will is prepared and in my desk—each of the boys and you will get inheritances.”

“Wh-what’re you talking about?” Phil stammered.

“I’m dying,” Estarra said plainly. “I was planning to release my soul in two days, then I had the vision about the boys. Now that they’re safe, I’ll be leaving.” She looked down, scuffing her shoes on the stone. “Us immortals rely heavily on love to live--I’m sure you’ve noticed. Losing Kristen, then you and your sons, took a lot from me. I’ve tried surrounding myself with good people, people that love me, people that I can take care of and protect. But it’s not enough.” She flopped her hands to her side and looked up, almost sheepishly. “They can’t replace what I had--what I lost. So I’m leaving this realm for the next. I’m not needed here anymore.”

Phil blinked. He couldn’t seem to comprehend what’d he’d all just heard.

“NO!”

Tommy, however—

The skinny blond darted forward from around Techno and launched himself at Estarra, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. “You can’t leave!” he looked up at his father, fire-cracker blue eyes dripping with tears. “We lost Mum-- do we have to lose our grandmother too?”

“Tommy—”

“She tried, Dad!” Tubbo was next, lightly limping forward, Ranboo supporting him. “And you wouldn’t have me or Tommy or Ranboo—” he wiped his nose noisily. “I miss Mum too, but you can’t just let Miss Estarra _die_ —”

“Dad—” Techno laid his massive hands on his father’s shoulders, leading him a bit away, looking Phil directly in the eye. “Mum would not have wanted this. I’m the only one who clearly remembers her, Dad. I _know_ she would not have wanted this. Our family, ripped apart by hate and malice.”

Phil trembled as Techno brought his father forward in a hug. “I know it hurts,” Techno muttered so that only Phil could hear. “But it’s time to bury the hatchet. It’s to _live_ again, for me. For your sons. For your mom. For _our_ mom.” Techno held his dad as the Angel of Death began to cry into the Blood God’s shoulder.

Estarra smiled faintly at the sight, rubbing a hand through Tommy’s hair. The blond remained attached to her, as if he thought in letting her go, she’d disappear right then and there. 

“You’re not really going to die, are you?” Ranboo asked timidly. Estarra’s lip wobbled and she held her hand out of the boy. Gingerly, Ranboo curled up against her side and let her hug him. Instead of answering, she planted a small kiss on the top of his head.

Feeling left out, Tubbo latched onto her next to Tommy. “Please don’t die.”

Estarra gave a small, quiet laugh as Wilbur just stood there awkwardly looking from the hug pile to his father and brother who was still crying. “C’mere Wilbur.”

The gangly brunet just sighed and joined the pile, hugging Estarra from behind and resting his cheek on her head. “You can’t leave now, Grandmum, I hope you know that,” he said. “Tommy and Tubbo won’t let you.”

“Never!” Tommy said fiercely. “We just got a grandma—we can’t lose you already!”

Estarra chuckled through her tear-clogged throat. “Okay. I’ll stay. Just for you.”  
“Yeah!!” Tommy leapt up from the hug, cheering. He quieted immediately once he saw his father walking back with Techno.

“Dad?” Wilbur inched forward.

They had rarely seen their father cry—none of which said rare experiences had been pleasant.

“Sorry, Wil,” Phil wiped his face. “Losing your mother—believing what I did for so long about your grandmother—to have it all come back in my face again—”

Wilbur didn’t wait for his dad to finish. The gangly boy enclosed his father in a hug. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo didn’t need any invitation.

The three brothers tackled-hugged their father and Wilbur.

Estarra thumbed her own tears.

“Grandmum?”

Estarra saw Techno approaching her. The mountain of a young man seemed nervous and out of place. It would have been a strange sight—the greatest warrior known to man, looking shy and humble in the presence of a frail and elderly woman.

“Do I tell Dad I’ve been visiting you for the past few years?” he whispered.

Estarra sighed.

Techno had been the only one who had remembered Estarra. Unable to believe that his grandmother had killed his mother, he had gone to visit after his dad had started letting him go on missions by himself.

Estarra had been surprised (as well as overjoyed to see her grandchild), but told him the truth, even using her magic to show the boy the past. She hadn’t wanted to, but Techno had insisted.

Since then, Techno tried to visit her when he could, bringing news of her grandsons and only child. If it weren’t for Techno, Estarra would have had to assume the worst for her only surviving kin.

“Mom?”

Estarra swallowed hard as Phil slowly approached Estarra. “Yes, dear?”

Then she was being hugged again.

By her son.

Her _son._

Estarra didn’t know when she started crying. All she knew was that she was _holding her son._

Her _baby._

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, gripping her baby as if he were her only lifeline. “I missed you _so much._ ”

“I’m sorry Mum,” Phil answered, drawing closer to his mother, curling his wings around her. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Estarra said. “I should’ve tried harder to tell you.”

Phil pulled away, face still wet. “You shouldn’t have had to. I should’ve been a better son.”

“Well, I think you’re both _fantastic_!” Tommy leapt onto his dad’s back, careful not to grip at his wing joints. “I’m hungry!”

“Me _too_!” Tubbo whined, climbing up Techno like his older brother was a tree.

“You just ate!” Estarra laughed, punctuated by a hiccup, as the boy hung upside down by his knees over Techno’s bicep.

“And? I’m a growing man!” Tommy said boldly, almost choking Phil out as he struggled not to fall.

“I need _foooooood_!” Even Ranboo joined in, hanging off Techno’s other arm.

“Since when am I a jungle-gym?” Techno dead-panned.

Wilbur copied Tommy, but on Techno.

“Since you let us walk all over you,” the brunet grinned.

“Grandmaa _aaaaa_ ,” Tommy leaned back, actually choking Phil this time. “I’m _hungryyyyy_.”

“Did you lot want to stay the night?” Estarra asked, not daring to hope.

“Might as well,” Phil said easily, hefting Tommy up and onto his shoulders. “It’ll be too dark to make it all the way home and I don’t want to travel with the boys that late.”

“I don’t either,” Ranboo said, still clinging to Techno like a koala. “I’m good without going camping for a while.”

“Are you sure—” Estarra said. “I can send guards along with you if you’re not comfortable—”

“It’s fine Mum.” Phil took a deep breath, then plowed ahead. “We need to fix this. Seeing the boys with you, seeing the castle again—it’s—it’s time. Speaking of which,” he handed Tommy to Techno, who now had all four younger brothers crawling on him, “Can I--can I visit her?”

Estarra smiled bittersweetly, before nodding her head toward a small path that was just barely visible in the snow. “This way. Anisa, take the boys to one of the sitting rooms, we’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Anisa looked like she had no desire to do anything whatsoever with the infamous Blood God, but led the way anyway. Techno followed—slowly, as his brothers were not showing any signs of getting off.

“I need a vacation,” Estarra heard Techno mutter.

…

Kristen Core’s grave was on Estarra’s property.

There had been no body to bury—the curse had decayed her body her ash, leaving not even bones to lay to rest.

In his anger and pain, Philza had fled the castle, taking his young children with him within a literal day of his wife passing.

Estarra had understood at first—her child needed space.

But then he had never come back.

Not knowing whether or not he had ever found a proper burial place, she had made one herself—sectioning off what used to be Kristen’s favorite part of Estarra’s garden and having a simple yet elegant tombstone engraved. Estarra had then, personally, dug up every flower and replaced them with all of Kristen’s favorites by hand. The work had helped numb the pain.

The flowers were dead now, under a healthy amount of snow.

Phil’s eyes watered at the sight of the tombstone. He dropped to his knees in front of it and wrapped his arms around himself, wings tightly folded against his back.

“I knew you’d give her a place of rest,” Phil said softly after a minute. “Somehow, through all the rage and agony and believing you did what you did, I knew you’d at least take care of what was left.”

Estarra nodded from her place several feet away. “There’s irises under the snow.” She half-heartedly kicked at a small clump of the fluff, pulling her cloak tighter. “And tiger lilies. Some yellow roses and snapdragons. It’s quite lovely in the spring. I was thinking of adding a lilac bush one of these years—”  
She trailed off and watched her son trace a finger on Kristen’s ornately carved name.

“I messed up, didn’t I, love?” Phil’s voice was quiet, broken. Laced with an emotion Estarra couldn’t quite place. Regret? Sadness? Wishing?

Estarra’s heart broke for the fifth time that day (that _hour_ , really) as Phil laid his forehead on the cold stone and started quietly crying, shoulders shaking slightly.

Estarra wanted to help her baby, but no one could help him now. He had to let his pain out on his own—nobody else could do it for him. He had bottled it up for too long—he had to drag himself up out of his own mire.

And when he was ready—she’d be there to help him heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter folks!! 
> 
> Let me know what you think!!


	14. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past has been faced, and the future is brighter for all involved. 
> 
> Healing begins with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one!!
> 
> I may consider doing a few oneshots after this if people want. 
> 
> No tws. Pretty mild compared to the last one.

Healing took a long time.

Estarra and Phil had nothing but time.

Phil managed to stay around the castle about a week, mostly because his sons wouldn’t let him leave. The memories were painful, sure, but the look on his sons’ faces when he showed them the secret passages he had discovered as a kid and his mother had forgotten about was worth it.

“Our little secret, you hear?” he whispered as even Techno looked at the dark tunnel that branched off to every corner of the castle with a mischievous grin.

“Sure, Dad,” Wilbur said, rubbing his hands together evilly. 

Things were still rough between Phil and Estarra though, and Phil found himself needing some space soon.

They left after that week, but came back a month later and stayed another week. Estarra took them sledding and showed them baby pictures of Phil, much to her son’s mortification and grandsons’ amusement.

It became a tradition. Sometimes they stayed longer, sometimes Phil would only send his boys. There was one long bout of time when he had to leave his sons with Estarra for a month—the Nether was heading towards war again and the two legends were called to the front.

Estarra was happy to have the boys in her castle again.

And slowly, as the weeks turned to months and months turned to years—things got better.

It was one of Phil’s proudest moments three years later when he handed Wilbur to his grandmother again—not as a baby this time, but as beautiful mockingbird avian with speckled grey and white wings.

Shortly after, Ranboo finally fully manifested into his Ender blood and had his grandmother clutching her side in pain as she laughed at him teleporting away from Tommy and Tubbo with their toys clutched in his fists. She didn’t even have the will to scold Tommy for his foul language.

Tubbo never manifested into a hybrid—though he had hybrid blood (plenty of it) he was human like his grandfather. He seemed quite content, especially after he showed signs of being proficient with red-stone magic. Estarra was happy to teach him and was pleased to discover the boy had an unmatched well of magic that would one day rival her own.

Tommy was the last to manifest, five years after the “Reunion,” as Tubbo had dubbed it.

Tommy didn’t let his dad surprise Estarra like he had with Wilbur; oh no, that would have been too easy. Instead, the youngest Core kin divebombed his grandmother in her office at eight A.M. on a Thursday morning with a flurry of flaming red wings.

“A phoenix??” his grandmother laughed as part of her office went up in flames, holding her grandson at arm’s length to keep him from bouncing off the walls as the golden-red feathers dripped sparks onto her two-hundred-year-old Oriental rug.

“Yep! You should’ve seen the look on Wilbur’s face! And I accidentally set fire to Techno’s hair and Dad had to yell at him for cursing at me—Techno swore!—and I keep setting things on fire in my sleep--”

“Sorry, Mom.” Phil said sheepishly as he swooped in through the window Tommy had broken, interrupting his rambling son. “He’s slippery.”

“I noticed,” Estarra couldn’t stop laughing as Ranboo teleported through the same window with Techno and Wilbur flew up with Tubbo. “That window is not to become y’alls new door, ya hear?”

Tommy grinned in a way that made Phil groan as Anisa, now married and heavily pregnant, desperately batted at the spreading fire, muttering about “having actual doors for a reason.”

Estarra just giggled and held Tommy close, feeling the heat from his wings on her face as he hugged her back.

_A drop of love is more powerful than a decade of hate. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this!! It means so much to me and makes me so incredibly happy!
> 
> Be safe, eat right, and make sure to take care of yourself!!
> 
> Again, Id love to do some oneshot requests with PhoenixInnit (Im really proud of that idea by the way...surprisingly, I havent seen many of the same thing....Tommys color be red and and him being the "fire" to Wilbur's/Tubbo's/Technoblade's "ice"). 
> 
> Im already working on another fic, with a lot more of the Dream SMP characters!
> 
> Stay tuned!!

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's short--I've got more chapters, plenty more, but if nobody likes this then I won't waste ya'lls time.


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